Part 2

At the end of her two month tour, Buffy was left with most of August to adjust to her new life in Sunnydale. All that time to improve her tan, lounge around and become a lazy little blonde vegetable. It was the most fun Buffy had had in a long while that hadn't included loud music or screaming.

But still, she had not ventured outside. Experience told her that even WITH a hat and sunnies, people could still recognise familiar faces. The only sure-fire way would be to wear a balaclava, but it'd just be too hot and too suspicious. **And what a great fashion statement that would be...**

Her new home was situated at the top of a small hill not far from the town's centre. It was a large place; a bit too large for so few people to live in. Giles claimed that it was the only 'appropriate' place, but Buffy was convinced that Giles just fancied it for the library space that was available to keep all his books in. The house, or rather, mansion, had been bought without eating too large a hole in Buffy's bank account—which was surprising; when Buffy first saw the mansion, she punched poor old Giles in the arm for not telling her that he had bought such an overly large house with her money. Of course, she apologised afterwards. The estate really did have a certain "charm" to it. **Ha! Charm? More like absolute luxury.** You never really could know what was going through that man's head.

Also living at the mansion were Gunn (as per usual), a maid, a butler, a cook, a gardener and several other servants that Giles insisted that she needed. Buffy was sceptical, but didn't want to press the issue any further.

Buffy picked up the paper from the kitchen counter and flipped immediately to the cartoons—she liked to read Calvin and Hobbes... Her small, white Maltese tagged behind her as she walked, wagging his tail excitedly. Thor, the ever energetic little dog, preferred being walked in the mornings and late in the afternoon. Since Gunn was in LA (on leave for the weekend), Buffy would have to walk him herself. **Ugh, I just KNOW that someone will recognise me...I should get a new disguise. Maybe some prosthetics and some facial hair.**

Although the neighbourhood was a very reserved and quiet one, she feared that a simple trip around the block would alert everyone prematurely of her presence. This was something she definitely didn't want, what with Gunn away in LA for the next two days...uh-uh, no way. It'd happened before, when she had lived in LA. Rumours in the magazines said that her address had been sold on the internet, but Buffy doubted it was the truth. Thankfully they moved to a different neighbourhood, one which was more populated with stars and the like.

Buffy hurriedly gulped down the glass of orange juice that the maid had poured for her and finished reading the comic she had been reading. Buffy grabbed the leash from the hook inside the laundry, with Thor at her heels the whole time, and attached it to the collar that he wore around his neck. On her way out, she grabbed a baseball cap off the hatstand and procured a pair of sunglasses from her pocket. "Let's go," Buffy sighed, letting the butler open the door for them.

Thor didn't hesitate to go tearing out the door and down the long, winding pebbled driveway, dragging Buffy along with him. For such a little dog, he could be *very* strong, and this, mixed with his persistence, made the little dog who was screaming down the drive with a bumbling blonde in tow.

Buffy waved to the gardener who was pruning the hedge along the driveway, leaving the man with a little something to chuckle about for the rest of the day.

Rounding the corner of their street, Thor slowed down to sniff at a tree before abandoning it for the next tree. Deciding it would be more appealing to pee on this particular tree, Thor did his business and they continued down the street.

Halfway down the street, Buffy spotted a tall, dark-haired young man walking a medium sized black dog—or rather, the dog was walking him. The dog looked a lot like a Labrador mixed with...something else and seemed to have one ear sticking straight up and one flopping straight down. It pulled its owner along with its blue leash and was apparently doing quite well so far.

Buffy made sure that her sunglasses were, indeed, on her face and pulled the flap of her cap down a little farther. Whilst concentrating on hiding her face, she neglected to notice the handle of Thor's leash sliding over her wrist and falling loosely in her hand. With a new-found fervour, Thor tugged and found himself free of Buffy's hold. As quick as his little legs could carry him, the small white Maltese raced down the road, toward the black Labrador mixed...and the guy.

Angel kept his eyes on the path, running through the formulas he needed to know to do the maths homework that still sat untouched on his desk. While his dog, Bertha Blue, stopped to sniff at the next telegraph pole, he looked up and saw a small white dog running toward him with a leash flapping behind it. Chasing after it was a girl—slim, blonde and petite all 'round. Though he could hardly see her face, he could swear that he recognised her from somewhere. **But where?**

Angel wrapped Bertha Blue's leash around his wrist twice and prepared to try to help this mysterious girl with her dog. **Couldn't hurt to flirt a little too, right?** Angel grabbed Thor's leash as he got closer and halted the tiny dog's motion.

Buffy caught up eventually and picked Thor up from the ground and tucked him under her arm. "You cheeky little thing, don't ever do that again," Buffy said to Thor. She smiled at the guy—okay, incredibly gorgeous guy—and said, "Thanks. I guess my attention span isn't too good."

"No problem. It happens to me all the time," Angel squinted from behind his dark sunglasses and swore he had seen this girl before. **Was it the girl who worked at the Espresso Pump? No, she's taller. Or is it that girl in Advanced Chem with me? No, definitely not her.** "I'm sorry, have I met you before?"

**Oh no. The first few minutes out of the house and I'm already being recognised? Yeah, sure, it's gonna happen sooner or later, but I would've preferred it to have been later...** "No, I don't think we have," Buffy replied. She dropped her head down and tried not to look at the complete yumminess of the guy standing in front of her. **Muscles and dark, mysterious eyes...the two things I just *happen* to find irresistible...**

"No, I know I've seen you before. I just can't..." Angel searched his memory. He'd seen this girl before...

Buffy faked looking at her watch, "Oh my God, I'm sorry. I'm going to be late. Giles is going to kill me. Thanks for your help!" With that, she put Thor back on the ground and held tightly onto the leash. Giles really was gonna kill her... She waved goodbye and jogged back the way she came. **Oh God, oh God, oh GOD...fuck.**

"Giles? I've heard that name before," Angel mumbled to himself. He tugged lightly on Bertha Blue's leash and they were on their way once again. Angel shrugged; Murphy's Law always applied to him—he wouldn't remember if he tried so hard. It would come to him eventually...

Rounding the corner that Buffy had disappeared around, he spotted the girl entering the gates of the McMillan estate...or rather, the ex-McMillan estate. It was no secret that the place had been sold a few months ago for an amount that would probably stick as Sunnydale's highest property selling price for the next four or five centuries. And, indeed, the sum had been *very* generous. A little TOO generous, his stepfather had commented. **He probably thinks they're a bunch of crime lords come to set up shop in Sunnydale...**

Angel watched as the girl—whom had remained a mystery to him—bounded up the driveway and disappeared into the mansion. Angel shook his head. **No time to think about picking up girls or else Darla's gonna kill me... If only I knew who this girl was...**

Angel crossed the street to his own house. It was almost directly opposite the estate; only one house down from the one that was. **Must be a nice view.** Angel took Bertha Blue inside only to be greeted by the sight of his stepbrother, William (a.k.a. Spike, as he insisted everyone should call him) and his girlfriend, Faith, curled up on the living room couch.

"Oi, Peaches, your mum said she wanted to 'have a word' with you," Spike said with a grin, "she did *not* look very happy."

"Great...what now?" Angel muttered under his breath, unhooking the leash from the collar around Bertha Blue's neck. He gave the dog a little pat on the back and sent him in Spike's direction.

"Oh shit," Spike screamed, leaping off the couch, pushing his girlfriend away as he tried to escape. But Bertha Blue was quicker. She had him pinned to the back of the sofa and completely covered Spike's face with dog slobber.

Faith, the ever loyal girlfriend, stood back and was almost rolling on the ground laughing.

"You'll pay for that!" Spike yelled after his stepbrother, who continued into the house to find his mother. Spike glared at Faith and struggled to push off the large (and very determined) dog.

Angel ran up the stairs and followed the sound of the hairdryer. His father had died when he was seven and his mother married Spike's father a year later. They had grown up, for the greater part of their lives, together, yet they could hardly stand each most of the time. They were almost like a normal family. He almost even accepted his stepfather as being his own—well, at least as close to it as he could imagine.

Angel found his mother at her dressing table picking out some earrings from a jewellery box that sat tucked away in her drawer. She picked out a pair of dangly pearl ones that contrasted well with her dark brown hair. Angel had always thought that she looked absolutely stunning whether she was dressing to go to work or to go to a formal event.

"Mom?" Angel knocked on the door. He stepped into the room cautiously. **What'd I do now? Left the toilet seat up? I doubt it.**

"There you are. I was starting to think that Spike had forgotten," she said more calmly than Angel had been expecting her to.

"He told me that you were angry about something."

"He did? The big fibber. I was angry at his father. I just wanted to talk to you before I go out for lunch with Margot and the girls from the club," his mother said while she carefully attached the earrings to her ears. Margot, his mother's best friend who had been as such since they had been in high school together and the society women from the country club that was about an hour's drive out of Sunnydale oftentimes shared lunch to gossip and catch up on each others lives. Angel found it kind of interesting until he discovered that he was sometimes the topic of discussion.

"What about?"

"Relax, you're not in trouble. I'm just concerned about you and this new girlfriend of yours, Darla. You and I both know that Darla is bad news. I trust your judgement, but we're just concerned about the grades that you received last semester and about what your maths tutor spoke to us about your progress," she said, pursing her lips. Maryann Ferguson-Black NEVER pursed her lips. "We just want what's best for you..."

Angel gulped. Of all the things he'd guessed that she wanted to talk to him about, Darla's name had never popped into his head. "So you think my grades were influenced by Darla? Or are you just trying to break us up because you disapprove?"

"Even Margot thinks you can do better than Darla-"

"And I'm supposed to care what she thinks. Grace thinks, Reagan thinks, Mrs. McFarland thinks, even your secretary thinks. Don't *I* ever get to think for myself?" Angel asked angrily. He knew that his mother and her friends meant well, but his father had always taught him to do what he thought was right and not to listen to the opinions of everyone else. But then again, they say that the dead do no wrong. "I'm sorry mom. I just...don't want to talk about it."

Angel walked out of the room without breaking eye contact with his mother and went back to his room to *try* to do his homework and his mind off the mysterious girl he had just met.